Madness
by abrynne
Summary: The next number puts everyone in danger, including Team Machine. But, when your business is saving lives on a daily basis, danger isn't unexpected. When it comes from all sides, though, that's when it gets interesting.
1. Prelude

__Howdy. :)

This is the tenth (count 'em, 10!) installment of my PoI series. This particular one can probably stand on its own, but there is back story that will help with certain things. The first story in the series is "Dark Horse".

A lot of this story is inspired by the song "Madness" by Muse. It's on their new album, I recommend checking it out.

Enjoy!

* * *

_John scuffed across the floor in his socks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Lifting the drapes a little, he peered through the window. Dawn was barely beginning to break across the cityscape. Shadows fled as the pale light poured in between the buildings._

_He leaned against the window frame, his arms folded over his wrinkled shirt, and squinted out at the new morning. Things were different. Even as he stood there in the quiet of Sam's apartment, John knew that his situation had changed. Last night it was one thing. Now, this morning, it was something else._

_John looked behind him, responding to the sound of movement. His eyes fell upon Sam, still asleep on the bed. She turned over, absently brushing her hair away as she found a new, comfortable position on the mattress._

_They had been up most of the night just… talking. There was always the temptation for more than that, but John swore to himself that he'd never give in to that, not while he kept the job that he did. They had danced around it before, admittedly. But he would never hurt her that way. It was all just too dangerous. That was the bottom line._

_John smiled a little as he turned back to the window. Sam would have said that he had too many bottom lines. Maybe that was true. It was with a certain finality that he dealt with things. It had always been that way. But now, as he had originally thought, things were different._

* * *

She practically inhaled her coffee as she walked up the steps to the eighth precinct. She'd had some late nights, and any help to keep herself awake was very welcome. The heat from the coffee was an added bonus.

"Detective."

Detective Joss Carter stopped automatically and turned, avoiding an instinctive eye roll when she saw who had called her.

"Agent Donnelly," she said, attempting to hide the dread in her voice. "I'm surprised you're still in town."

"We've always got a few projects going, Detective," Donnelly said with a stiff smile. "I thought you might be able to help me on this one, as you have already had contact with him."

"So… not the Man in the Suit this time?"

"We're always working on that, but this is starting to take precedence. And, if we play our cards right, this could lead to the Man in the Suit."

Donnelly handed over a photograph, an ID portrait of a man, Caucasian, roughly middle aged, dark eyes and hair that was receding.

"Agent Snow?" Carter said uncertainly, holding the photograph of the CIA agent. "Okay, I can't let you guys start chasing each other around the city."

"I don't plan on doing that," Donnelly said, his normally slack face gaining a little spark. "I know he's also come to you about the Man in the Suit."

"Not recently."

"No, and we know why. Snow was originally assigned to this case, sort of as a last chance deal with the CIA."

"As in, 'if you mess this up, you're done'?"

"Basically," Donnelly nodded and took the photo from Carter. "What we know so far is that Snow has been trying to off our Man in the Suit long before you and I ever became involved. Catching him here was his last chance and he blew it."

Carter, already aware of the punch line, raised her eyebrows and finished Donnelly's great reveal for him. "So he's not CIA anymore."

"No, he's not. He and his team were terminated several months ago for failing to catch this guy."

Carter pulled her coat tighter around her. Her nose was starting to go numb in the cool autumn air. "So you're telling me that Snow is still here somewhere, maybe looking for the same guy?"

"That's what we're thinking. But, seeing as how he hasn't approached you in a while means that he's lying low, investigating on his own."

"But why would he be still looking for this guy if he's not even getting paid to do it?"

Donnelly's eyes flashed and his lips twitched. That only meant bad news. "Snow has lost his job and his credibility. One of the theories is that his hunt for the Man in the Suit is more of a personal thing for him now."

"Which makes him more dangerous," Carter muttered. Her dark eyes looked past Donnelly for a moment, along the street as though Snow would be standing there, lurking in the shadows. "Isn't the CIA going to be sending another team to take care of both of these guys?"

"They will eventually," Donnelly agreed. "Our Man in the Suit isn't off the hook yet. But I think, and my superiors agree, that Snow, if he's doing what we think he's doing, is more of an immediate threat."

"What do you need me to do?" Carter asked.

"Right now, just continue as you are. If Snow tries to contact you, and I have a feeling he might, you know how to reach me." Donnelly started to leave when Carter took a breath.

"It's interesting," she said.

"Interesting?"

"Snow is so determined to get this guy. It kind of makes you wonder."

Donnelly stepped toward her again, curious. "Yes?"

"All of those crime scenes, those murders that he's supposed to have committed… because his prints were found at each of the scenes. Seems kind of convenient, huh?"

Donnelly eyed her for a moment. "A little, maybe. I'll check in with you later, Carter," he said, and headed down the precinct steps, hitching his collar up against the cold.

* * *

_Perhaps he'd shared a little too much with Sam last night. His mind was still groggy from lack of sleep, and they had spoken for so long, that John couldn't be sure where they'd stopped. He had told her about what it was like, working overseas, in Special Ops, and on missions for the CIA. He never went into detail as far as the missions went, but focused more on what it was like personally, for him – the thrill, the fear, and the rush he felt from the time he went in, executed the plan, to when the mission was over. She'd asked the same questions he remembered asking in the moment._

Who is he? Why was I sent to kill him? Is the information we're after really worth the torture?_ and so on._

_John had told her that was partially what drove him to leave the agency as he did. And she'd asked what the other reason was._

_One of the reasons John liked Sam, why they seemed to get on so well was because she had the same set of ideals as he did. The only difference was that she probably would have asked questions sooner than he had._

_John went on to explain his last mission to her, leaving out the classified details, as they were. The Agency had sent him and his partner to their deaths. But John managed to escape._

_In exchange, he'd learned more about Sam's parents and family, her love of children, and even her talent for music. The every day memories of the no longer average woman. John devoured it._

_What had happened last night _was_ intimacy, just in another form._

_John stepped away from the window, allowing the curtains to fall closed, leaving the room in semi-darkness. He moved back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress next to Sam's knees. Reaching across her, he lifted a section of her dark hair off and away from her neck, brushing his fingers along her jaw as he did so._

_Things were very different. And there was no going back._

* * *

Sam left her apartment in the late evening.

She started down the street and regretted not wearing a coat over her costume. The dress was long, but the fabric was much too light to be worn on its own in the middle of a New York autumn.

There had been one number since that… odd night she spent with John, but it had already been taken care of just yesterday. Today, she hadn't heard from John or Harold at all. Harold's absence of communication was understandable, and expected. John's, however, was perhaps understandable, but also annoying. Since she'd come back into town late that summer, hardly a day went by when she didn't hear from him. Yet, Sam couldn't be concerned. She knew why John was keeping his distance. He'd even acted strange when they were taking care of the number yesterday.

So, John had opened up to her, perhaps more than he'd meant to. But, there was no harm done. In fact, Sam thought of it as kind of a breakthrough. She had finally gained the opportunity to step inside the vault as it were, and saw the human being behind that rock solid exterior John always kept up.

Granted, over the past year, Sam had had glimpses of the man underneath all of the training and grief. That night, though, John had asked if he could keep her. For just that night? Or… maybe until further notice? Sam shook her head at the thought. Judging from his standoffish demeanor yesterday, it was most likely the former.

But, they would be good. They were good. That's how it always was.

Sam's overactive brain, however, couldn't just let things lie. Where did they go from there? They were closer, yes, but still not as close as she wanted them to be. She knew that the romance, the white picket fence with a family, and a dog was simply not a possible option if she wanted to stay with John. So, what were the options? She had no answer.

Whatever they were to each other before, it was stronger now. And no matter how things panned out, she was there for good.

Sam hiked up the white dress as she crossed a street onto the next block. The air was crisp and cool, getting colder by the day. But the sun was still out, giving off the last bit of warmth before autumn made way for the winter.

Dodging a group of kids, mostly dressed in costumes from recent comic book movies, Sam continued down the street.

* * *

The party at Alina's apartment was exactly what she expected. Sam stepped through the front door to have her ears accosted by the deafening bass to whatever Lady Gaga song that happened to be playing. The lights were dimmed. Black lights and multicolored spot lights glowed eerily down from the ceiling as Sam stepped into the apartment. Alina had turned her spacious apartment into a posh night club.

Sam smiled, made one last adjustment to her hair, and entered the living room. It was packed with people, all in costume. A few faces turned to her and greeted her, raising their martinis in approval of her costume.

"Sam!"

Sam looked around until her eyes fell upon what looked like Marie Antoinette with a darker skin tone. Alina held onto her tall, powdered wig as she shoved her way in between her party guests, wearing a very authentic looking Georgian era ball gown. She took up the space of a pool table with the thing.

"Marie Antoinette?" Sam asked, pointing at her.

"Princess Leia!" Alina said, pointing at Sam's white dress and the buns on either side of her head. "I think we actually have an R2D2 in here somewhere. I _have_ to get a picture with you two." She took Sam by the hand. "Come on, I want to introduce you to some people."

Sam grinned, allowing Alina to drag her through the crowd of people. There were several Thors, and Sam was glad she'd ditched the idea early on of dressing as Catwoman. There were more than she could count.

She met up with Cal again, a very friendly transvestite she had first met when she was helping John with a case that concerned Alina. They had later saved her life. But, that was the job.

After saying hello to Cal, Alina introduced her to many other people, the names of whom Sam would completely forget in the next two hours.

They ended up in the kitchen where the music was a little muffled, and a conversation could be held without shouting. Alina fought with her dress as she made Sam a drink. "I take it John and Harold declined my invitation?"

Sam choked violently. "Are you kidding me? That was very sweet of you to invite them, Alina. But when I told them about the party, they looked at me like I had just beamed down from the mother ship. Harold looked particularly horrified."

Alina burst out laughing and handed Sam her drink. Sam took a sip of the alcohol disguised as candy as she waited for Alina to stop laughing. She had every right to. As promised, Sam had delivered Alina's Halloween party invitation to John Reese and Harold Finch when she came into HQ one morning. They had just stared at her. It was really unnerving.

It was a kind gesture on Alina's part, as John and Harold, along with Sam, had saved her life. But inviting those two to a party was like trying to force Lionel Fusco to stop eating meat. It was just pointless.

"Oh well. I thought John would have at least thought about it."

Sam scoffed at her. "Are you kidding? The only thing I've ever seen him dressed up in is a tuxedo and – "

"I bet that was nice," Alina waggled her eyebrows under her thick costume makeup.

Sam paused and thought back on it. That was her first official job helping John. They had dressed up only to get blown up. "Yes, yes it was. But – "

"Bow tie, or neck?"

"What?"

"I'm trying to envision it, Sam. I need details."

"Oh," Sam looked away from her as she tried to remember. "It was a black neck tie, vest, and jacket."

Alina closed her eyes and smiled. "Nice."

"You know, ever since I came back into town, we always end up talking about John whenever we get together. Why is that?" Sam asked, knowing very well what the answer was.

Alina considered Sam for a moment before she answered. "Okay, I'm going to lay it all out for you. Are you ready?"

"I was born ready."

"I've never understood that statement."

"Me neither. It's not possible."

"_Anyway_, let us compare a few things. I am the gorgeous –"

Sam nodded her agreement.

"Thank you – wealthy owner of several family businesses. I live in one of the best cities on

the planet. I have two security guards, a phone just for my appointments, and a kick ass wardrobe. I have also not dated in almost a year. And even though I was nearly blown up earlier this year, my life has become painfully routine ever since. And when I say routine, I mean _boring_."

"Are you saying you're in a rut? I'd like to switch ruts with you," Sam said, feeling the buzz of the alcohol.

"Are you saying that _you're_ in a rut? Because that's just not true."

"Are you going to lay it out some more?"

"I wasn't even finished."

Sam waved her hand, giving Alina the go ahead as she took another sip of her drink.

"You, on the other hand, are a writer turned vigilante – "

"Ah! No, no. Nix on the vigilante part. We don't like that word," Sam cut her hand across her throat as she spoke. "We… help people deal with their life threatening problems."

"Whatever. You are a writer who has _continued_ her writing career while becoming involved with two mystery men who happen to save people's lives on a weekly basis."

"Maybe two to three times a week, it depends really," Sam explained. "And I only met them because they saved _my_ life first."

"Your life, Sam, is filled with adventure, danger, and a tall, dark, and handsome man who would kill to protect you."

"We've got each other's backs," Sam shrugged.

Alina snorted. "Really? You see him almost every day. You told me that you saved his life. He's saved yours. You left town and came back because of him. Don't deny it! And that's all that's come out of it? He's got your back?"

"Alina," Sam shook her head. "Let me lay it out for you – John and I have so many issues that it is amazing that we are able to talk to each other the way we do. John's baggage is almost laughably extensive. We're almost… more like brother and sister, really." Sam's insides twitched at what was coming out of her own mouth, but it was mostly true. Mostly.

"Right."

Alina's disbelieving eyes looked past Sam for a moment. She grinned. "Something's got Cal's panties in a wad."

Sam turned around to see Cal making his way toward them. It really was surprising how well he pulled off Bette Midler. "He might be wearing a thong," she reasoned.

Alina smiled at the joke as Cal approached the counter. "There's a tall, well dressed, somthin'-somthin' at the door. No one's letting him in because of your no costume rule. I've already called dibs."

Alina's dark, penciled eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I didn't think everyone would take it so literally."

"Are you sure he's not in a costume?" Sam asked Cal.

"I'm pretty sure because he's your man in a suit. That's usually what he wears, right?"


	2. Watched

_He'd come too close to her. But he'd known that months ago, and things continued changing. Time kept moving. He'd seen it coming from miles away, but had only tried once, halfheartedly, to stop it. Now, he wasn't sure if he even wanted a way out._

_His instincts told him one thing and his logic told him another as he touched her. So far, he'd been fighting both._

_Sam wasn't just any other woman. Then again, Jessica hadn't been either. But when he compared the two, they couldn't have been more different. Jessica had been gentle, graceful. She was funny, but always had a kind of class about her, a kind of elegance. Even after the time that had passed, John still had trouble thinking about her in the past tense._

_Sam lifted her hand and rubbed at her nose. Her hand rested on the pillow next to her face. John squinted at it. A bruise ran along the bases of her fingers and on the knuckles. After a moment of thought, John smiled. A few days before, Sam had punched a hospital nurse who was assisting in the murder of a patient._

_She was so impulsive. Sam was a high category hurricane. She was vocal, loud, and couldn't seem to keep from speaking her mind. At times, John suspected that she would start arguments with him for the sole purpose of the argument itself. _

_Sometimes, she tripped over things that weren't even there. She also smiled and laughed easily, and her sense of humor was a natural talent. _

_Sam was very loyal and warm. Even after everything she'd been through, her smile chased shadows away. And that impulsiveness was probably what saved his life more than once._

* * *

Sam closed her eyes to collect herself. What was John doing there? It had better be something important. "He's not _my_ man," she said.

"Then can he be mine?" Cal asked.

"It's nice that he came after all," Alina reasoned.

"Only to kill my buzz," Sam sighed. "He'll just have to stand out there. No costume, no admittance."

"I'll find him something so we can let him in," Alina moved around the kitchen island, knocking over a couple of stools with her enormous dress as she went. She cursed as Sam and Cal righted the stools, and she and Sam headed through the colorful crowd to the front door. On the way, Alina snatched a black cowboy hat off of another party guest, who didn't seem to take notice.

Once they reached the door, Alina opened it and turned on her brightest, most lovely smile in response to John, leaning against the door frame, wearing his usual suit and shirt without the neck tie.

"Hello, Alina," John gave her a half smile. His striking blue eyes went from Alina to Sam. He looked her once over and smiled a little. "Very cute. I need to talk to you… your worship."

"You couldn't call me?" Sam asked.

"You weren't picking up."

Sam's shoulders sagged. The party was louder than she thought. She couldn't even hear her phone. "Oh well," Sam smiled wryly. "You knew the rules. You have to have a costume on in order to be let in."

John studied her for a moment, those people reading skills hard at work. "You're just being difficult. The hallway is just as good a place as any," he reasoned.

"Come on, Sam," Alina said, and the entity that was her dress barged into the doorway, smashing Sam against the door frame. "I found a cowboy hat!"

Sam smiled at the black cowboy hat that Alina smashed onto John's head before he could say anything.

John pushed the hat back on his head, glanced at Alina for a moment. "Again, the hallway is fine."

"Hm," Sam said. Now John looked like a nicely dressed country music enthusiast. "Too bad Finch didn't come with you. He could have been your deputy."

"I like it. The hat is nice. It has a Harrison Ford feel to it." Alina said.

John's eyes went back to Sam. "Could we, please?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Come on," Sam said, taking his hand, and pulling him out of the hallway.

"Take the spare bedroom. It's open just for coats," Alina told Sam before she grinned at John once more, and went back to her party.

* * *

Sam pulled John with her, weaving through the front room, in between furniture and moderately drunken party guests, and down a short hallway.

They entered the spare bedroom. Sam turned on the lights only to discover another couple on the floor by the bed. They sat up, startled, and stared at the newcomers.

"We've got this room already, sweetie," one of them said.

John stepped in behind Sam, drew his very real weapon, and waved it at the pair. "It's our turn," he said.

He waited until the couple ran out, and shut the door.

Sam wandered over and sat on the pile of coats stacked on the bed as John tipped the hat again.

"Seems like a nice party," he said conversationally.

Sam adjusted her hair buns and shrugged. "It's good. What's going on that couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"Carter called earlier today with some interesting news about Mark Snow."

Sam groaned. "Goodie. Hasn't someone shot him yet? Oh, can I do it? Please?"

"You shot him last time, remember?" John winked and sat down next to her amongst the coats. Surprisingly, he kept the black cowboy hat on his head.

"Only because he was going to kill you first. He almost did too," Sam added as she recalled that stormy night when John was captured by Snow and his team. If Sam hadn't intervened, John most definitely would not be sitting with her right then.

"It looks like Agent Donnelly has a new person at the top of his hit list," John continued his explanation.

Sam stared at him in surprise. "Snow? He's going after Snow now?"

"Looks like," John nodded.

"Can't we just let them kill each other?"

John's eyes glinted a little at the suggestion. He'd already come up with that option. "I'd agree with you whole heartedly, but our new number sort of… conflicts with that point of interest."

"It's not Snow, is it?" Sam asked, praying that she wouldn't have to protect Snow. She would much rather have him killed and wash her hands of him than risk her life in attempt to keep him alive. She could only imagine how John felt about it.

"No, it's Donnelly."

The news took a moment to sink in. Sam's smile was slow to come, but was very broad once it arrived. She couldn't help it. "You're not planning to shoot him any time soon, are you?"

"It's funny," John said. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth deepened, as he was unable to hold back a smile himself. "Finch asked a very similar question after we found out who the number was. He also wanted to put the question to you too."

"Me?" Sam put her hand to her chest, looking innocently up at him. John, wearing that hat, eyed her and she laughed. "No, I swear I'm not planning on picking off any FBI agents."

"Even ones that captured you and tried using you to get to me?"

"Even one of those."

Sam thought for a moment. This was going to be hard. This job would probably the hardest they've ever had to do. Protecting the life of the head of the very same federal task force that was on a twenty four hour man hunt for the man sitting next to her on that bed seemed laughable. First of all, who would even try to kill him?

"It's Snow, isn't it? He's going to kill Donnelly."

Sam spoke before she'd thought it through, but John nodded. "That is one very convincing theory, one that we have to put to the test by getting to Snow first."

"That man will shoot you on sight, John," Sam said firmly.

"I don't plan on letting him see me first," John replied. "And he hasn't seen you yet. There's our advantage."

"I really hope we have more than just the one advantage," Sam moaned.

"Donnelly is going to try to bring Snow out into the open." John's eyes left hers and moved to different places in the room. He did that when he was following a very long and complicated train of thought. "Snow, won't come unless he has no other choice, or if it's to his advantage."

"Out of the two of them, who would you say is smarter? Which one of them would win in an outfoxing match?"

John considered the question seriously for a moment. "Snow is still after me. He's turned this into something personal. He was trained just like I was – "

"But he's not as smart as you are, otherwise he would have caught you."

John smiled. "I've always had help when he's had me cornered. When I was in the field, he was mostly behind a desk, planning operations, assigning agents for different missions and so on. He would sometimes be in the same area we were, but he'd never be out with the rest of us. He's out of practice when it comes to working in the field. But, he's more dangerous than he was before, because of that agenda he seems to be carrying around."

"Donnelly still has his rules. He won't kill you if he sees you."

"That wouldn't stop him from taking a shot."

Sam shrugged. "He really wants to get you alive, John. It's kind of personal for him too. He just hasn't gone nuts over it yet."

"I don't think I've ever been this popular."

Sam rolled her eyes. "I don't think that's the word. It seems like the appropriate word, but it's not."

* * *

The Machine pulling up Donnelly's number, of all people, only made Sam believe that she was now responsible for protecting two people: Donnelly obviously, and John. There was no way she'd let anyone get a hold of him. If Snow got to him, he would most likely interrogate John in the worst way possible, and then kill him. If Donnelly got to him, John would be going to prison for a very, very, _very_ long time. Neither option sat well with Sam.

John had returned the hat, and left the party soon after he spoke with Sam, agreeing that they would meet later that night at HQ. It looked like they'd be pulling one of their infamous all nighters. Sam sometimes felt like she was developing incredible night vision, like Gollum, because they ended up working so much at night.

She didn't stay at the party much longer. Knowing what was at stake, she knew she'd be more comfortable just getting started. And, the sooner they started, the sooner it would be over, and Sam couldn't wait until this one was over.

It wasn't quite midnight yet when she left the party. Her hair was starting to fall out of the fake hair buns on her head, which were also making her ears broil with trapped heat.

Sam stepped out of the apartment building, and was thinking about going home first to change before she headed over to HQ when her phone rang. The white clutch she brought with her, purely for the purpose of coordinating with her costume, came out from under the folds of her dress.

The caller ID read "Unknown Number", which meant that the caller was one of two people. Or, perhaps both.

Sam hit the answer button, and before she spoke, Finch's voice came from the other line.

"Stop walking. Stay still," he said firmly.

"What?"

In spite of her confusion, Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk next to Alina's apartment building, and looked around her, half expecting Harold Finch to leap out from around a corner.

"Ah," Finch continued. "There you are. That white gown makes you stand out like a sore thumb."

Sam looked above her, all around, until she noticed a surveillance camera on the corner of the apartment building. It was about ten, maybe fifteen meters away, and pointed right at her.

"What's going on, Harold?"

"You are being followed, Miss Watts."

"How on earth do you know that?" Sam lowered her voice, her eyes darting around to the shadows across the street.

There were a few people still out, but none of the ones she saw appeared to be interested in her.

"Mr. Reese noticed them when he visited your party earlier."

"When was he planning on telling me?" Sam snapped at the phone.

"He's telling you now. It's fortunate that he discovered them early."

"Did they notice him?"

"We don't believe so."

"Do _we_ know who they are?"

"We're about to find out," Finch said without rising to her irritated tone. "I have access to the camera feeds in that area. It also does not appear that they've blue-jacked your phone yet. You may continue walking… now."

Sam started walking down the same way she had originally been going. That's when she heard the footsteps. There were two, maybe three people, heavy footed, keeping their distance, but staying close enough to keep her in view.

"I can hear them," Sam whispered.

"Don't be afraid, Miss Watts. Laugh a little, like you're only talking to a friend."

Sam laughed out loud and shook her head. "I am talking to a friend, Harold. When will you get that through your head?"

"I'm working on that," Finch replied. "I still have you in sight and… it looks like there are two men behind you. I can't get close enough to get their faces. When you reach the corner, cross the street, lead them right underneath one of the cameras at the intersection."

"Roger that," Sam muttered.

Per Finch's instructions, Sam walked directly in view of two cameras at the intersection, one on each of the street corners. She continued moving after crossing the street.

"Gotcha," Finch muttered.

"Who?"

"I'm doing a search now. Hang on."

Sam waited a minute, and let out another laugh for good measure when Finch came back on the line. "Oh dear."

"Spill it, Harold."

"It looks like one of the two men following you is an ex con. He was indicted for theft, assault with a deadly weapon, and about a half a dozen other charges on different occasions."

Sam suddenly felt horribly exposed in that white dress on the dark street, with nothing to protect her against convicted thugs except for the .35 snub nose that she was able to jam into that ridiculous clutch.

"Slow down, Sam. If you go any faster, they'll know that something is up."

"Why are they following me, Harold?" Sam asked, breathlessly.

"I can only think of one person who would hire men like that."

Sam's train of thought matched Finch's in less than a second. "Elias. But, why - ?"

"Talking on your phone while walking can be as dangerous as talking and driving."

Sam stopped dead as a figure came out from the shadow of a building. His eyes were dark, sunken, and his dark hair was thinning on top. His expression was unreadable as he approached her, slipping his hands into the long black coat he wore.

Sam nearly choked on her tongue, but managed to lower the major part of her reaction down to a minimum. She lowered her phone, hiding it in the folds of her dress at her side as Mark Snow approached her.

"Hello, Samantha. It's a little late for a woman to be walking home alone, don't you think?"


	3. Special Ops

_John helplessly concluded as he sat there that he didn't know what to do about Sam. There was no going back, of course. It was the way forward that scared him. But, he remembered seeing, so clearly, the future he wanted with Jess. She had seemed too good to be true. In some ways, she was. That thought made it a little easier for him to leave when he did. He never believed he'd been good enough for her, for anyone really._

_Then there was Sam, who had repeated more than twice that no matter what he thought, he was still worth something. Maybe that's why he kept her around. _

_Doubtful. Sam stayed around whether he liked it or not. Amongst those other traits, she was also forceful when she wanted to be. And in some ways, she was braver than he was at times. _

_Sam's breathing continued steadily on as John sat next to her on the bed. Was it bravery – courage that he needed in order to face this? Somehow, he didn't think so. _

_He never thought that he would have been given another chance._

* * *

He moved easily, looking calm and relaxed, not like he was about to reach for a weapon. But, Sam couldn't be absolutely sure of anything that this man would do.

She took a step back. "I'm sorry, I don't know who – "

Snow held up a hand and sighed exasperatedly. "How about we set aside the pretense, Samantha? I know who you are, and I _know_ you know who I am."

Sam squared her shoulders and kept her distance. "What do you want?"

A small, ghost of a smile passed over Snow's hardened features. "I know you have had contact with a man known as John Reese. Pretty recently, as I understand it."

More recently than you think, Sam thought. John must have left the building a different way in order to avoid being discovered.

"If you'll remember several months back, it was you we followed in order to get to him. And you delivered beautifully."

Sam swallowed down the flare of anger at his jab. "And yet, you still couldn't hold onto him."

"Yes," Snow said slowly. "You turned out to be more resourceful than expected. Does he mean that much to you?"

"You figure it out. You're the one who knows so much," Sam said.

"Not as much as I'd like," Snow sidled closer to her, but she stepped back again. "For example, I'd like to know where John is."

Sam laughed, genuinely that time. "Sorry, I can't help you." She sidestepped him, but he moved in front of her, blocking her path again.

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

Sam glared hatefully at him. "You should take your own advice. I can't help you. And even if I could, I don't have to. I heard that the CIA got fed up with your crap. Your backup is gone, Snow. Now, I'd say that John has more friends than you do."

It must have been the anger that made her so snappy with him. Snow was unpredictable. He was also, as John had said, much more dangerous than before. But, she couldn't help getting in a jab at him whenever she could.

Snow's face revealed very little, but Sam was already accustomed to reading a man with rock hard facial expressions. He gave away a small flinch, and Sam took that as an indication that she'd gotten to him.

He smiled a little. "You shouldn't take everything at face value, Samantha. For example, I am still on assignment with the CIA. Only now it is more… under the radar."

Sam returned his smile. "Of course you'd say that. Either way, I can't believe a word you say."

Snow stepped forward once more, and Sam backed away, right into something very solid, directly behind her. She looked around and saw the two thugs who had been following her.

"Do you truly know who it is you're protecting?" Snow's voice darkened, just like John's did when he wanted to appear more threatening.

Sam looked back around. She was surrounded now, there was nowhere to run. Finch was still on the phone, listening. Just be cool and keep him talking.

"Yes I do," Sam said solidly. "I have a question for you, Mark." She smiled a little, her use of Snow's first name seemed to irritate him. "Do you even remember why you're hunting him? Why you want to kill him?"

Snow took another step closer. "I know him better than you think you do," he muttered.

"Aw, Mark, don't be so petty as to let a man come between us," Sam joked before she could stop herself.

"John killed his partner, you know," Snow went on, ignoring her mockery. "Her name was Cara Stanton. She was young, pretty, like you. He used her until he didn't need her anymore, and then he disposed of her."

Sam's dark eyes narrowed. Snow spoke as if he had memorized this speech. But, John hadn't spoken of his partner on that long night they had shared. He'd mentioned that he had a partner, of course, but Sam didn't even realize that it had been a woman.

"I only ask that you help me catch him before you end up on the eleven o'clock news."

Sam shrugged. "I've already been on the eleven o'clock news."

Snow's brow furrowed for a short second. His confusion quickly left his features, but it was enough to prove that he didn't know about Sam's original identity. She currently lived as Samantha Watts. The woman known as Samantha Tudin died last spring.

"I suppose there's no persuading you just yet."

Snow straightened the collar of his coat up against the cool air. He turned to leave, but looked over his shoulder once at the two thugs. "Don't let her scream," he said.

Before Sam could take a breath, a large hand covered her mouth, and another arm came tightly around her middle. Panic rose up in her like a geyser. The fear nearly overpowered her until her brain snapped back to one of the defense training sessions she'd had with John.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sam jammed her elbow into the ribs of her captor, then slammed her boot down onto his instep. He grunted and his grip loosened as her fist swung down and made violent contact with his groin.

He groaned and released Sam.

Before the other could make a grab for her, Sam ran out of reach. Her escape, however, was short lived. An arm blocked her path, and pulled her away from the street lights.

"Don't make this difficult for me," Snow whispered in her ear.

He'd twisted her arm behind her back, and clamped a gloved hand around her throat. He was surprisingly strong for his slight figure.

The two thugs approached them, one with a limp. As they did so, a faint noise Sam hadn't noticed earlier grew louder. It was an engine. It came closer, sounding like a motorcycle.

The sound closed in on them until a single light sped around the corner, and headed straight toward the four people on the sidewalk.

"I had a feeling he'd come for you," Snow muttered. "I didn't think it would be so quick. It appears you're still very useful to him."

He released her throat and pulled a handgun from under his coat, pointing it at the oncoming motorcyclist.

Sam screamed with pain in her twisted arm as she forced Snow backwards against the wall, throwing his aim off. The weapon fired high and right.

The motorcycle jumped the curb and skidded toward Sam and Snow. The rider reached out a gloved hand and smacked Snow over the head with something as he passed them. Dazed, Snow backed up against the wall of a building as the motorcycle drifted, and skidded to a halt, sitting protectively in between Sam and the two convicts, who backed away.

The driver stood, straddling the motorcycle and drew a weapon, pointing it at Elias' men. Sam watched as his other hand extended towards her, he waved her toward him with his fingers.

She didn't have to be told twice. Hiking up her skirt, Sam ran to the bike, and swung her leg over the back of the seat.

The motorcyclist fired his weapon four times, hitting each thug in both legs. He then took his seat, and hit the gas.

Sam lunged forward, grabbing onto him for dear life as they skidded back around the street corner, her white dress flapping out behind them.

* * *

His decision to take the motorcycle rather than the large Lincoln sedan was a good one, John concluded after they escaped. Although he preferred not to ride it while wearing one of his suits, it made for a much more efficient getaway. Snow and those men had fired off a few more futile gunshots after them, but hadn't bothered to follow.

John entered HQ with Sam following not far behind. He strode into the room, setting the helmet on the desk as Finch turned around in his desk chair. He lifted his eyebrows and John nodded – he'd been successful.

Finch nodded in return and turned back to the computer monitors on the desk as Sam stomped in. She marched herself right up to John and pointed a finger at him so closely, that it was in danger of going up his nose.

"What the _hell_ was that, Reese?" she snapped at him.

Her Princess Leia buns were falling out, and her white dress was smudged with dirt. Include that with her flushed cheeks and pissed off expression, it would have been an amusing sight if she didn't look like she wanted to murder him.

John leaned away from her a little as Finch turned back around in his chair, the better to witness the drama. "You're welcome," John said smartly.

All that got him was a sharp slap across the face. It caught him completely by surprise, and it must have shown on his face because Sam looked like she regretted it immediately afterward.

"Sam!" Finch said sharply.

"Are you insane?" She asked instead of apologizing. "Snow wants you dead, and you go and show up right in front of him like that!"

John bent over a little so he was eye level with her. His intensity made her back up a step. "Would you have preferred I let him use you as bait? Because that is the _only_ reason you're still alive. He wants to use you to get to me, and that's all he wants you for."

The news flash seemed like a slap in itself. Sam lowered her hand and backed away from him, her eyes large, scared.

John sighed and rubbed a hand on his left cheek. It was hot to the touch. "Look, Sam, when it concerns Snow, you are in as much danger with him as I am. You took a shot at him last spring."

"If you'd let me kill him, we wouldn't be in this mess," Sam said stubbornly.

John rolled his eyes. "You would have regretted it. And that's something you can't take back." He still got a bit of a chill thinking about that laser site on Snow's temple. She would have done it too. Sam would have killed someone to save his, John's, life.

Sam glared at him once more, and began taking her hair down.

"Let's just be grateful that the both of you are all right. Acceptable?" Harold Finch said reasonably.

"Yes," John and Sam said simultaneously.

"Now, I think you'll both remember that we have work to do."

John looked at Sam. She returned his gaze and they both suppressed a grin, looking quickly away from each other. The longer John knew Finch, the more he seemed like a mildly scolding college professor. He had the wardrobe down perfectly. And the sarcastic, guilt inducing jargon Finch used was also uncanny.

Sam set the fake hair on the windowsill, and ruffled her hands through her real hair as it spilled over her shoulders in thick, dark waves.

"I don't know, Harold," she said lightly. "Donnelly's a trained FBI agent. Don't you think he can take care of himself?"

"Are you asking to opt out of this one, Miss Watts?" Finch turned his birdlike stare upon her and John watched her wither.

"No, of course not," she muttered.

"This is more of a delicate situation. That's why we wanted to track Agent – "

John cleared his throat, and looked up at the ceiling.

"Fine, _Mister_ Snow," Finch shook his head. "We wanted to track him first as he is our first suspect."

"Found him," Sam said.

"Yes, and now, thanks to the two of you and the circumstances, we can track him anywhere." Finch pulled up a GPS map on one of the screens. John and Sam leaned in for a closer look. Just as he said, there was a small red dot on the screen heading uptown as far as John could tell.

"You marked him?" Sam asked.

John nodded. It had been a brilliant stroke on Finch's part, though half of the ideas Finch had seemed to be brilliant strokes.

He never thought he'd have a chance to get the small, almost undetectable marker on Snow. But, an opportunity presented itself beautifully. In that small second when Sam had pushed Snow away as he fired his weapon, John took the opening. They had stumbled, and John saw his chance to put the marker on Snow, while at the same time, teach him a lesson for messing with a friend of his.

He had smacked Snow hard on the back of the head, also sticking the thin, transparent GPS marker on his neck as he passed on the motorcycle. It had been easier than expected. Now, as long as Snow continued on unaware, they could track him wherever he went.

Sam raised her dark eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Well, we've got Snow covered it looks like."

"For now," Finch said.

"But why was he with Elias' men?"

"I'm sure he can use all the help he can get, these days," Finch said.

"That's comforting. So, what about Donnelly?"

"Well, Lionel's been a little whiny about what I've given him to do lately. I thought I'd spice things up for him a little," John said and winked over Finch's head at Sam, who smiled.

It was the best they could do for now. Lionel was the only one of their little group that Donnelly didn't know by sight. Well, there was Finch as well, but John didn't want to have Finch's face as well known as his was in government circles.

Lionel would keep an eye on Donnelly until they figured out more of the details.

* * *

The webcam on the other end of the line wobbled as it was adjusted, and his boss came into the frame, looking disgruntled as usual.

"This had better be good," he said, his voice coming through clearly through the phone speaker.

"That other guy you wanted me to track down, the Fed who was after our guy, the Special Ops."

"Yes?"

"He's looking into things he's not supposed to."

"What things?"

"He's digging deeper into Special Ops. Just started doing it a couple days ago. With his access, he might stumble onto some things he shouldn't."

"You started tailing him because you thought he'd lead to this... Special Ops, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then let him lead you there, and don't call me again until you have some solid results. If he digs too deep, you know our procedures."

"I do, sir."

The picture on his phone went dark, and the connection was cut.


	4. New Suit

John sat on the driver's side of the parked sedan, his eyes averted out the window until he heard Sam climb back up to the front of the car. She settled into the seat next to him.

"You can look now," she said. "That's very sweet of you, by the way, even though we both know that you've seen more than your share of me."

"You know that couldn't be helped, Sam. You were barely conscious at the time." He felt a small smile slip out at the memory. He had dragged Sam to his apartment after she'd been working. She had been slipped a mickey by a transvestite while she was working, which led her to basically throw herself at him. But, he resisted, and… made her more comfortable so she could sleep.

He turned to look at her. Instead of the Princess Leia costume, Sam was in a pair of jeans, v-neck shirt and a brown leather jacket. It was much more subtle than the white princess dress, which was why John had agreed to stop by her apartment in the first place.

"Better?" he asked her.

"Much, thank you. And – " she hesitated.

John raised his eyebrows expectantly.

She reached toward him, her fingers on his chin. He allowed her to tilt one side of his face a little toward her. She sighed. "I'm sorry I hit you, John."

The small argument between them in HQ had been a few hours ago. John had almost forgotten about it. But, judging from the look on Sam's face, it was bothering her. He'd known she was sorry the moment after it happened. And it wasn't like he'd never been hit before.

"I know," he decided to say. "It's okay, Sam."

"It's just that you never seem to take things like this seriously," she said, mostly to the windshield.

"I'm serious all the time."

"You _look_ serious all the time. I've known you for long enough now that I can tell the difference between you looking serious and you being serious. But, I mean you don't take things like this that are about you very seriously."

"We're here for Donnelly – "

"Who is after you," Sam said pointedly, looking sidelong at him. "He's now hunting Snow, who is also after _you_."

John didn't have an immediate response. He watched her in the silence of the car as she pulled out her phone.

He looked back across the street corner to the building that housed the FBI's task force that Donnelly headed up. According to Fusco, the Special Agent rarely left the building. When he did, it was only to go across the street to the hotel Donnelly had been staying in for however long he'd been in town. It seemed like forever. John made a mental note to make sure Donnelly never moved into a more permanent residence there, otherwise they all would really be in trouble.

"It's different with me," John muttered to no one in particular.

"How is it different? Why is someone else's life more important than yours?"

"I can protect mine."

Sam put the phone down. He felt her eyes upon him, but didn't meet them.

"You can protect yours," she said flatly. "That has not always been the case, and you know it."

John looked at her then. She was tired. Her dark eyes were sunken a little and her skin was pale. But her expression was calculative, which was never a good thing. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned as she studied him. The look faded as she spoke again.

"John, where do you see yourself in ten, maybe fifteen years down the road?"

He heard her loading the question. There was a weight to it that was almost physical. John had known the answer to that question already. Most likely, John Reese would be in the ground by then – even more likely, before then. A winning streak always ends, and John had always known that his living streak would end in a very sudden, perhaps violent way. And he was fine with that. He'd accepted that fact even before becoming an agent for the CIA. His line of work was always the dangerous kind. It would be stupid not to accept the idea that you may not live to see the next day.

John knew his answer, but decided against voicing it. "What are you getting at?" he asked instead.

"I'm getting at the answer to my question. Where do you see yourself in fifteen years, John?" Her voice grew testier. "I can give you some examples. Do you think you'd be retired from this by then? Maybe living in a rustic cottage in the woods, writing your memoirs? Maybe you'd still be working at this job in some form. We both know that, physically, you wouldn't be up to doing this forever. So, maybe you'd end up staying on as a consultant or something." Sam had gone from testy to sniping.

"Memoirs?"

"Unlike the memoirs most people write, I think yours would be pretty interesting to read."

John checked the street again. It was deserted. The sun was barely just starting to come up. Every bit of scenery was a different shade of gray in the dull light.

He looked back at Sam. She wasn't angry, not even testy. Her eyes were round and her mouth was opened slightly. She looked… shocked.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't plan on living that long, do you?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling.

"Sam – "

"Tell me the truth, John."

John looked away from her and sighed. He stared ahead through the windshield. "I knew what this job was when I came into it. I knew what I was getting into with the CIA – or I thought I did – and long before that. It is more than likely that I won't be alive in ten years. It's not that I don't care, it's a fact."

"You don't care because of the fact," Sam corrected him.

"It's easier to accept it, Sam."

Sam scowled, but didn't say anything further.

As John thought about it, it was her own fault if she still held out hope for retirement or whatever it was she hoped for. Accepting the much more likely scenario was the natural thing. Sure, he would fight whenever he could. He would fight hard. But, the time would come that he wouldn't be able to fight hard enough. It was inevitable in the line of work they both were in.

He had come close more than once. John was still alive thanks to many people. A few of those close calls were only close thanks to Sam. She fought for him. She shouldn't, but she did, determinedly.

One of these days that would put her in too deep right along with him, and they both would be checking out. That wouldn't be acceptable. He would never bring Sam or anyone else down with him if he could help it. The problem, however, was that Sam always managed to somehow dive right in with him whether he wanted her to or not. Much to his wish to the contrary, they had become a team.

John's train of thought was interrupted when he saw a car pull up and park further down the street, on the opposite side.

Sam took notice of the vehicle as well. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at the newcomer as John picked up the camera and looked through the view finder.

The vehicle stopped, but no one got out.

John hit the speed dial on his phone. "Finch?"

"Yes?" Finch's voice came through the speaker on his phone.

"Someone just pulled up in what looks like a rental. Are you still tracking Snow?"

"I am, and he's nowhere near the FBI's task force headquarters."

"Could be a fluke," Sam suggested.

"At this hour of the morning?" John asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right."

They sat quietly for another moment or two when the driver's side door of the car across the street opened, and a man stepped out. John held up the camera again and began taking photographs. The stranger wore a dark gray suit as far as John could tell in the dim light. He was tall, mid forties perhaps. The suited man stood up to his full height and surveyed the street very closely.

John recognized the training almost right away. Whoever this man was, he was government, but not like Agent Donnelly was government. This guy was sent out for a specific target. His mission: eliminate that target.

After his detailed surveying of the street, the man closed the car door, and walked into the building that housed the FBI task force. John shook his head. Whatever he was, he was not FBI. At least his pay grade wasn't.

"This might be a little more complicated than we thought," John thought out loud.

"Do you know him?"

"No, but I know what he is. Finch, I think we have a new suspect."

"Come again?" Finch said over the phone.

"We just had a new guy show up and walk right into the FBI's building. Have you gotten into the cameras in there yet?"

"They're taking a little longer than I thought," Finch said with irritation. "Perhaps he is another agent, working under Donnelly?"

"He is not FBI," John said flatly.

"What is he then?" Sam asked.

"He's got some serious training. Like me," John answered.

* * *

Having another person like John within the same city block of him scared Sam more than she would have admitted. John was something of a certainty in her mind. She knew where his loyalties were. He had been through hell and back, but he still managed to keep his head screwed on straight, for the most part.

They waited as Finch counted down in their ears.

"Cameras in three – two – one – "

The screen on Sam's phone lit up with a camera feed, a bird's eye view of the FBI's New York task force HQ. She glanced at John's phone, he had another angle of the room.

The man they watched enter the building came into view on Sam's screen first.

"That's him, I'm assuming?" Finch asked.

"Yeah," John confirmed.

"I will attempt a facial match, but he seems to be very aware of the cameras."

Sam nodded in agreement. "We're just getting the back of his head."

The other man in a suit walked through the rows of desks, looking for something specific. He then left Sam's view. She leaned over and looked at John's screen. They watched New Suit approach a door, bypass the lock, and enter.

"What room is that, Finch?"

A long pause came over the line. "I believe that is Agent Donnelly's office."

"Do you have a camera in there?" John asked.

"No, but I have already taken the liberty of accessing his PC, which is what our friend is trying to do right now. And… he got in. This is more than just an overconfident assassin."

John rolled his eyes and Sam grinned as Finch continued. "He knows exactly what he's doing and what he's after. He's now accessing Donnelly's files on you, Mr. Reese. Miss Watts is also included in those, I'm afraid."

"He'll know what we look like," Sam tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but wasn't sure how successful she'd been.

"This isn't about us, Sam," John said. "Well, it is, but Donnelly's involved now. Maybe he went somewhere they didn't want him to go."

"He's downloading the files and all of Donnelly's search records onto an external drive. Would you care to elaborate on your theory, Mr. Reese? If it is, in fact, a theory." Finch sounded a little panicky as well, making Sam feel a little better.

"If he was only looking for me, there are easier places to dig into than the FBI's HQ, much less Donnelly's office," John looked across the street at the building, his eyes distant, as though he was playing a scenario out in his mind while he spoke. "It has to do with Donnelly. He works for the FBI, has a shining record, has worked his way up the ranks into being a head of his own task force. He's squeaky clean. So why, do you think, does our friend," John pointed over at the building, "want to find out what Donnelly already knows?"

Everyone went quiet as Finch and Sam puzzled the rest of it out. If John was right, and this guy had the same type of background, the same training, he wouldn't be sent here on a chase just to bring someone in.

Sam pointed vaguely, her eyes moving back and forth as she thought. "So, you think," she said slowly, uncertain of where her train of thought was going, "that your clothes twin in there was sent here to 'take care' of a specific person." Sam quoted with her fingers in the air. "And if that's true, and let's say that person is you, then anything connected with you would need to be… disposed of too, right?"

"More or less," John nodded.

"The download is finished. He's wiping the history and shutting down the computer," Finch said over the phone line.

"Sam."

Sam looked at John, her brain still puzzling out the scenario. She raised her eyebrows at him in question.

"I'll be right back. Do not leave this car, you get me?"

His expression was stone serious, and Sam didn't think to argue. She nodded as he got out and shut the door.

"Well, what could Donnelly find out about John that would also get him killed?" Sam asked the general space of the car.

"There's always the connection to the Machine," Finch said flatly.

John strode across the street, looking this way and that, making certain no one else was around just yet.

"Wha – well yeah, but Donnelly doesn't even _know_ about that. And even if he did, he wouldn't know that John and I know," Sam said. "Wait, Harold – how many people are _supposed_ to know about the Machine?"

John first moved over to the car left by their new, suited friend. He walked once around it.

"He's coming out," Finch said.

As John came back around the car, he met New Suit head on.

Sam swore loudly as she watched the fight that ensued.

"What is it? What's going on?" Finch asked frantically.

The two men nearly blurred in Sam's vision, they moved so fast. Blow after blow after blow was released and blocked, or taken and retaliated all within a matter of a few seconds. Unlike the other hand to hand fights Sam had witnessed John in, this was the most frightening. This guy, whoever he was, would never back down or run away from John like most of the others had.

Sam winced as John took a couple of blows to the ribs, and was kicked hard to the ground. He lay on the sidewalk as the man advanced on him and shot out another blow to John's head, which was blocked as John worked his way back up to his knees.

Sam then made a decision. She scrambled in the foot of the car for her purse and pulled out her gun. "He'll just be all smug, and say that I never listen to him," she muttered as she checked the clip, "which is _not_ true!"

"What? Sam, what is going on?" Finch shouted from the phone.

"Aren't you on the street cameras too!" Sam cocked her gun and opened the car door.

John had managed to get back on his feet, and Sam stayed behind the car for another moment. He was tiring, she could see it. As for his opponent, he seemed to keep on coming. But John kept up with him, blocking, and making counter attacks as much as he could. He swiped at his opponent's suit jacket in what looked like a failed attack, but he rallied, and hit him hard across the jaw as he turned around.

Just as Sam concluded that it was a stalemate, John's opponent struck hard at the inside of John's knee, causing his legs to buckle. He let out a sharp shout of pain, as he twisted around and hit the concrete on one hand and one knee.

Sam skirted around the car and advanced on the pair as New Suit advanced upon John. Taking aim just next to his head, she fired, hitting the wall of the building. She kept moving forward, unable to speak as she gained New Suit's attention.

"Looks like the Special Agent was right," New Suit said smugly, looking down at John. "You have a little helper."

He took another step towards John, who was back on his feet.

"Get away from him." The words forced their way out of Sam's mouth as she stopped at the curb, the gun pointed at his head. Now, in the light of the dawn, she could see their new friend very clearly. His hair was short, curly, receding a little on top. His eyes were dark and were accented greatly by strangely arching eyebrows. That was his most distinctive feature, the rest was static.

"It would do you better if you stayed out of this, girlie." New Suit moved to John again, who appeared ready for another brawl, but Sam couldn't stop herself now.

"Do you think I'm kidding?" she said.

New Suit stopped again and smiled an icy smile that gave Sam the shivers. "You can't kill me, even if you wanted to," he said. Sam was really getting sick of that rough drawl and the smug sneer on his stupid face. "Do you know what it is, to take a life?"

Intimidation. John used it all the time. It used to work on her too, but now Sam could spot it from a mile away. This guy's tactic was no different.

"Actually," Sam smiled a little. "I do." She pulled the trigger. The shot wasn't lethal, but was good enough that it knocked him to the ground. "Come on, come on! Now, now, before he's coherent again!" Sam yelled at John as she turned and ran back toward the car like a frightened deer.

"I told you to stay in the car," John scolded as he caught up with her.

"I couldn't sit there and let you get your ass kicked," Sam said, falling into the passenger seat.

John sat down next to her, his eyes flashing as he started the engine. "No, you got out and took a couple of shots at a guy who is capable of killing _me_. What do you think he'll do to you now?"

"There isn't a camera feed that faces the building. I don't ask for much, you know," Finch's irate tone came into the car through the phone speaker. "I only want to know what the hell is going on!"


End file.
